


Lessons Learned

by Yessica



Series: Whumptober 2020 Yessica Edition [24]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amputation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blindness, Fluff, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Canon, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yessica/pseuds/Yessica
Summary: Crowley receives his due punishment and his due reward.(Whumptober day 26 - Blindness)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Whumptober 2020 Yessica Edition [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949233
Kudos: 21
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Lessons Learned

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Take Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990807) by [Yessica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yessica/pseuds/Yessica). 



Time has lost all its meaning for Crowley by the time the suffering stops.

Punishment, they whisper in his ear. Punishment for chaos wrought and orders disobeyed. Crowley feels no regret and knows he would do it all over again if he could.

Their nails drag along his back, leaving rivets of pain in their wake as they dig up his flesh. There is poison in them, liquid fire making its home inside his veins that burns with the power of holy water. He convulses against the scorching heat inescapable in its tenacity.

With immense force their hand grips around his throat, squeezes Crowley's useless airway shut, and killing him is not the point but it leaves dark spots dancing in his vision. Pushing him against the wall to aggravate the wounds they left when they tore off his wings, two miserably stumps marred with scar tissue the only indication he had them to begin with. Blood leaks out of them as they draw him along rough-hewn stone and Crowley yelps.

"Let this be a lesson learned," they hiss, breath of maggots and rot against the side of his face. "Let this not need to be repeated."

Neither threat nor promise, it is a simple fact stated in the way you'd command a dog.

The strength to do anything but nod in answer has left him. When they let go Crowley drops to the ground limply, his legs bruised and bent beneath him. He barely feels how much it hurts. A shadow encompasses him, swallows him up completely and their fingers come down to trace his closed eyelids tenderly for a moment.

Then with excruciating pain.

Panting on the floor Crowley tries to open his eyes again only to find nothing but eternal night. Their footsteps retreat in rhythmic taps, leaving him cold and deserted in darkness, aching all throughout his body. Crowley feels his divine power return to him with their absence and using the last splinters of his fragile presence of mind knows he has to get out, disappearing and reforming someplace save before unconsciousness takes over.

* * *

He wakes up to gentle hands on his shoulders.

Crowley startles, instinct driving him to try and throw off his attacker, though Aziraphale's surprised little shriek stops him from doing something rash. The smell of dusty old books hits him a moment later and he can't help but consider himself mad. Call it a strange irony that this is the place he'd subconsciously appear at.

There isn't another spot in the world he'd rather be at, surely.

"Crowley, wha-" He feels Aziraphale's warmth travel up his cheeks, a delicate touch right beneath his lash line. "Dear fellow, what in the world happened to you?"

"Been through hell," Crowley answers.

The huff he gets in response tells him Aziraphale will not take his humor in kind right now and then those hands are helping him up, leading him to the couch. Crowley sinks into it gratefully, leaning onto his knees to give his back respite and not bleed all over his friend's furniture. He knows Aziraphale can see the amputated stumps from the way he inhales sharply in horror.

"Have you-" he starts, but the demon waves him away. He doesn't want to talk about it yet. Or he simply can't.

Corporal form does not mean a lot to their kind. They could destroy him however they liked and none of it would stick, only the pain inflicted on him. Crowley needs only to regain the strength to restore his body, and with it his wings and his sight. "I'm fine."

His eyes must be hazed over and unseeing, because Aziraphale gasps again at noticing his blindness. "Your eyes?" he asks, voice full of barely suppressed dread.

Crowley raises his head but can't see anything except the pitch black of his stolen vision.

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale pushes their foreheads together then, his breath brushing Crowley's lips. He wants to close that distance so badly, but knows it isn't the right time – the right moment. Allowing the angel to indulge instead, he closes his eyes again, sinking in the comfort of his presence.

The wetness of Aziraphale's tears runs against his own skin where they're pressed together.

"Why are you crying?" Crowley asks.

He wishes he could see his angel. Wishes he could know those bright eyes and a smile full of idle wit. A million times over he must have taken in the sight of Aziraphale, spanning centuries and lifetimes, but it never grows old. When he needs it most Crowley still feels deprived.

Somehow it hurts more than any of the other wounds do.

"Because I wish I could do something to help you," Aziraphale answers. He says it the way he says everything, frank boldness and no apologism. Crowley realized he loved him eons ago, maybe as soon as the garden. But every time it's like falling anew.

Bringing up his hands to cup Aziraphale's face, he sighs into the motion. A ship finally finding its haven. Incomplete but enough to tide the storm. "You already are."

He doesn't know how long they sit there, but then again time truly has lost all meaning.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by rogue205 on [my Tumblr](http://sharada-n.tumblr.com/)


End file.
